/lit/ - Literature

Crippled midget whore was a regular—in a long remission from appendiceal cancer, which I had not previously known existed. Crippled midget whore said—as she had every other time I’d attended Support Group—that she felt strong, which felt like bragging to me as the oxygen-drizzling nubs tickled my nostrils.

Without looking over at me, Mcfagget said, “You’re killing my vibe here, Bitchtits bumblefuck Grace. I’m trying to observe young love in its many-splendored awkwardness.”

so crippled midget whore took me to see my Regular Doctor Kike, who agreed that I was veritably swimming in a paralyzing and totally clinical depression.

He towered over me, but he kept his distance so I wouldn’t have to crane my neck to look aids ridden faggot in the eye. “What’s your name?” he asked.
“Bitchtits Bumblefuck.”
“No, your full name.”
“Um, Bitchtits Bumblefuck Grace Lancaster.”